Catching the Wind
by InkheartFirebringer
Summary: 'On the other hand, he'd gotten into terrible trouble for being found on the roof of the school kitchens… But all he'd tried to do was jump behind the big trash cans outside the kitchen doors. Harry supposed that the wind must have caught him in mid-jump.' (Philosopher's Stone, p. 24) What if it really had been the wind that had helped Harry that day, rather than his magic?
1. To Hide

**A/N: First off, a thousand apologies to people who are waiting for me to update other things. I went to see Rise of the Guardians at the cinema and utterly adored it, and then I was thinking guiltily that I ought to update my Harry Potter/Criminal Minds crossover before I even considered writing any ROTG fanfiction, when **_**this **_**smacked me in the face. I'm sorry. :( In my defence, it's only two small chapters. **

**As for the story, my brain picked up on the quote in the summary and basically went 'lightbulb!' And then this happened. Enjoy. :D **

**Disclaimer: I don't own Harry Potter or Rise of the Guardians. (Itwassobeautifulwantogoseeit againnownownownow – ! **

**Ahem.)**

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**Catching the Wind**

**Chapter One: To Hide**

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The day that Harry first heard the name Jack Frost was Not A Good Day. In fact, it was probably a contender for a downright Awful Day.

It was snowing outside. Harry could hear of the yells and squeals of the other children in the playground and the occasional thud of a snowball hitting against the classroom window. However, the small, raven-haired boy was not participating in the fun and games. Instead, he was wedged in the small gap between the massive radiator and the book trolley, right at the back of the Primary 5 classroom. The lights were switched off, meaning that the dim grey light of the snowstorm was all he had to see by. It was difficult, but that was good, because it meant it was difficult for anyone else to see too.

Harry had just been looking for a place to hide from Dudley's gang. They had finally uncovered his favourite hiding-spot – more due to luck than any actual application of brainpower on their part – and, to his regret, it had been a cupboard situated directly over the kitchens. This position meant that it had been warm and comfortable to curl up in, despite the fact that it was mid-December. Harry had been privately hoping that they wouldn't find out about that particular hiding place until _after_ Christmas (that would have been a nice present) but it seemed that luck was not on his side this month.

He had fled through the corridors, pursued by the group of lumbering idiots, and ducked inside a darkened classroom to catch his breath. His thin body shook from the exertion but he made himself cross the room and sink down behind the book trolley, which was less exposed and therefore safer, if any of Dudley's gang happened to look through the door.

Harry took deep breaths, feeling his racing heart gradually slow. He was fast on his feet – it was his one advantage – but he lacked the stamina to keep it up for long. That was especially true in the winter months, where the cold sapped his strength even quicker than normal. He fished a crumpled handful of silvery tinfoil out of his pocket. Peeling it away carefully, he uncovered a single square of milk chocolate and lifted it out as reverently as if it were a holy object. Moments later, the rich, creamy goodness was melting on his tongue and the sugar was sweeping through his body, leaving energy in its wake.

Harry leaned against the radiator, tugging his woollen hat further down over his ears, and trying to absorb as much heat as possible. He listened as the thunderous footsteps of Dudley and his friends went past the door and an unconscious smile tugged at his lips. He contemplated moving, but decided to remain a little while longer. It was only ten minutes until the end of lunchtime and he could slip out into the playground just before the bell.

It was then that his eyes snagged on the spine of a book. It was jutting out of the trolley, almost directly in front of him, and it was coloured the deep blue of a winter sky. However, the thing that had truly caught his attention was the title. It was made of some iridescent silvery paper and somehow managed to catch the dim, grey light of the classroom at exactly the right angle, reflecting it back and transforming the words into beautiful, shining silver.

He reached out and tentatively traced the jagged lettering with his fingertips.

"Ja-ck- Fr-o-st," Harry carefully sounded out.

The six year old tugged the book out of its place, opened it in his lap and was instantly whisked away. For the next ten minutes, he forgot the world around him and only when the bell rang for the end of lunch did he emerge from the story. Jumping hastily to his feet, Harry quickly stowed the book away and fled out of the room and down the corridor to his own classroom.

On the way home, Dudley and his gang caught up to him and took their revenge for his evasion at lunchtime. The small boy trudged home, late and soaking wet, to a loud scolding from Aunt Petunia. But not the beating, or the scolding, or the sound of the bolts on his cupboard door sliding home, or his glasses, cradled against his chest, broken for the fifth time that year, could erase the bright figure of the winter spirit from his mind's eye, shining and swooping through the snowy air.

The day that Harry Potter first heard the name Jack Frost was Not A Good Day. But, thanks to Jack, wasn't an Awful Day either.

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**A/N: Tada. It was originally going to be one big chapter, but this seemed like such a good place to end I decided to split it. :D Part two will be up no later than tomorrow.**


	2. To Seek

**A/N: I know, I know! Don't kill me! *hides* I know how late this is and I'm sorry. I just can't seem to keep time-related promises. Please ignore me if I ever do anything so foolish again in the future. **

**Also, there will be one more chapter, from Jack's POV. :D**

**Disclaimer: Don't own them. Sadness abounds.**

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**Catching the Wind**

**Chapter Two: To Seek**

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Harry trudged through the snow on his way to school. _One more day. Just one more day, _he told himself.

It was 20th of December and the last day of term. For most children, it meant that they had the joy of Christmas to look forward to, a magical visit from Santa Claus and two whole weeks off school to spend with friends and family. However, the Dursley household was a decidedly magic-free zone. Even the innocence of Christmas magic had been banished. Harry had compared this practise with what he had observed of other people's Christmas traditions since starting school, and had been utterly bemused. In the end, he had chalked up his relatives' behaviour to their hatred of anything abnormal or anything that behaved in a way that it wasn't supposed to. Flying reindeer certainly fell into that category. Not to mention a magical man who could travel the entire world in the course of a single night.

In any case, Dudley – and, by extension, Harry – had been informed in no uncertain terms that Santa Claus did not exist. The first Christmas that Harry could remember, he had watched his cousin opening mounds of presents, all from Vernon and Petunia. He had retreated to his cupboard and sat hunched up on his bed, holding on tightly to the orange that he had received from his aunt and uncle. He had stared at his sole present, the piece of fruit clutched hard in both of his tiny hands, and had suddenly, fiercely, wished that Santa Claus _did_ exist. The small boy had fallen asleep, holding that wish in his heart. When he had woken several hours later, a tiny, perfect golden present had been sitting on the shelf beside his bed, as inexplicable as it was beautiful.

And ever since, Santa had never had a more steadfast believer.

Harry hunched more deeply inside his coat, taking refuge from the icy wind gusting along the street. Apart from the present he would receive from Santa, the winter holidays weren't much cause for celebration for him personally. Well, apart from in the sense that it was easier to avoid Dudley's gang when they weren't stuck in the same building for nearly seven hours every day, but even when he spent his holidays roaming around Little Whinging in order to avoid them, he still had to go home when night fell.

The six year old's eyes were drawn to the snow flurrying through the air. The clouds were iron-grey, promising yet more snow to add to the drifts already clogging the streets. Uncle Vernon had been complaining at top volume this morning about the weather and how much extra work it was creating for him. Personally, Harry couldn't look at the snow without thinking about his new best friend.

It had been a week and a half since he had discovered the story of Jack Frost and he couldn't stop thinking about it; to the extent that he had shyly approached the Primary 5 teacher and asked to borrow the book from her library trolley. It was hidden under his bed at Number 4 Privet Drive at that very moment and Harry smiled behind his scarf at the thought. The tale had captured his imagination and the current blizzard conditions in Little Whinging made it all too easy to envisage that Jack Frost was present in the small town. He loved the idea of a winter spirit flying free across the sky, bringing the cold and the frost and the ice and the snow to the world. It made him long to soar up into the sky too, and the knowledge that he couldn't made his chest ache and his eyesight blur in a way that had nothing to do with the smudges on his glasses.

Harry sniffled a little and rubbed at his eyes, quickly getting rid of traces of moisture before it could freeze on his face. The wind blew more strongly around him, buffeting his frail form and he muttered, "Stop it, Jack." Then he winced. It was becoming a habit to attribute any winter weather to Jack, but speaking out loud to his imaginary friend was a bad idea. It would provide yet more ammunition for Dudley if his cousin happened to overhear him and the blond boy was sure to tell Aunt Petunia and Uncle Vernon too. Such blatant use of imagination was sure to earn Harry at least a week in his cupboard.

Then, to his surprise, the wind died away completely, as if it was actually listening to him. Harry halted for a second in sheer astonishment. Then, a second later, it came hurtling back, whipping around him more strongly than ever.

"Hey!" The involuntary complaint slipped out as he stumbled and then almost slipped on the ice. The wind seemed to drop a little again, though it still rushed around him, tugging at his clothes like invisible hands.

Then his ears picked up on the sound of the school bell ringing in the distance and the strange behaviour of the wind was forgotten in the resultant surge of panic. Harry arrived five minutes late, out of breath, to a mild scolding from his teacher as he slid into his seat and tried to make himself as inconspicuous as possible.

It wasn't until morning break that he had the chance to think about it again. He trudged around the playground, keeping away from any other bundled-up figures that he could make out through the blizzard. If the heavy snow was good for one thing, it was for making him anonymous. Dudley's gang could be twenty metres away and not recognise him.

"He does _too_ exist!"

Harry halted as the voice rang out. It was female and sounded on the verge of tears.

"Does not!"

Harry groaned internally. Dudley's sneer was unmistakeable. The small black-haired boy had changed direction and begun walking quickly in the direction of the voices before he even consciously realised that he had made the decision.

Four figures loomed up suddenly out of the blizzard and Harry took in the scene. Little Mandy Johnson was glaring up at Dudley, fists clenched and angry tears gathered at the corners of her eyes. His cousin loomed over the younger girl, flanked by two of his gorillas, Dennis and Gordon.

"Santa Claus doesn't exist." Dudley wore a superior smirk. "Anyone who thinks otherwise is just a big, sad _baby_."

Mandy's glare intensified. "I am _not _a baby! And I think you're the sad one! How can you not believe in something as wonderful as Santa?"

_Uh oh. _Harry hurried forward. His cousin wasn't exactly intelligent but even he would be able to recognise that as an insult. Mandy was about to become a victim of Dudley and his moronic sidekicks and it was Harry's fault. In his absence, they had clearly gone looking for other prey. He halted just out of arm's reach and then called out. "Yeah, Dudley, how can you not believe in Santa? And don't you still sleep with a teddy bear? Mr Snuggly, wasn't it? I don't think you're in any position to call _anyone _a baby, let alone someone younger than you."

Dudley purpled at the words – Harry privately registered the striking and highly unflattering resemblance to his father – and swung around to face the smaller boy, eyes narrowed and fists clenched. "Shut it, freak."

Harry rolled his eyes. "Ouch. Like I've never heard that before." The insult had been tossed his way so often that it had lost its sting, at least enough for him not to display a visible reaction anyway. Harry knew his casual manner would infuriate Dudley even further and while that wasn't especially good for his health, it was worth it on this occasion. His deliberate provocation of his cousin had caused the big blond boy to entirely forget about Mandy, who was watching the exchange, open-mouthed.

"Are you gonna take that from him, Dudley?" Gordon asked, cracking his knuckles.

Harry tensed his muscles, preparing to run. He kept his tone airy, however. "Oh, please. Like he needs an excuse to beat up helpless children."

The six-year-old broke into a sprint half a second before the three older boys charged. He had become an expert in judging when they were about to do so and that precious split second head-start was vital in keeping him safe.

He sped across the playground, relying more on memory on his actual eyesight. The snow was coming down so thick and fast he could barely see a couple of metres in front of himself, and it actually seemed to be increasing in intensity. Harry didn't question his good luck, instead veering sharply left and heading for the kitchens. He knew there was a cluster of bins that he could hide behind and with any luck, Dudley, Dennis and Gordon wouldn't be able to see him at all with such poor weather conditions.

There was a loud yell from behind him. Harry's curiosity won after a brief wrestle with his flight instinct and he slowed a little, chancing a quick glance over his shoulder. The black-haired boy was just in time to see Dennis slip and fall on a patch of ice. The bully skidded across the ground and knocked the legs out from under Gordon, and both boys went down in a tangled heap of flailing limbs and angry shouting.

Harry couldn't resist laughing. It wasn't often his tormentors got comeuppance of any sort and seeing the bullies trying and failing to scramble to their feet invoked a fierce sort of satisfaction in him.

Of course, it was a mere second later that _he_ slipped. The black-haired boy's foot skidded on a frozen puddle hidden beneath a thin dusting of snow and he felt himself falling sideways. That was where things took a decidedly abnormal turn. Instead of hitting the ground, Harry felt the wind flurry _hard_ around him, as if a huge gust of air had risen from beneath the earth and suddenly he was upright again, stumbling to find his footing.

Despite the shock, the small boy had no chance to wonder what on earth had just happened. Dudley was still running towards him and Dennis and Gordon looked as if they were struggling to their feet again.

Turning, Harry bolted in the direction of the kitchens. The wind howled and blew strongly; it pushed hard against Harry's back as if urging him on and from the sound of Dudley's yelping, it was sweeping the flurries of falling snow into his face with stinging force.

_There. _Harry sped up as he spotted the big black shapes of the bins looming up out of the blizzard. He could sense Dudley behind him, hard on his heels, and his heart sank. If his cousin was right behind him, he wouldn't have an opportunity to hide. Making a split-second decision, he decided to weave through the cluster of bins, out the other side, and keep going. With any luck, he could duck inside the kitchens themselves and hide there instead.

Harry was a scant metre away from the first of the bins when some sixth sense tingled warningly. He barely twisted out of the way in time as a meaty fist swung through the space he had occupied a mere second ago and he caught a glimpse of Malcolm's sneering face. _I was _wondering _where the rest of Dudley's thugs were. I assumed they were skiving the last day of school. If Malcolm's here, that only leaves Piers unaccounted for –_

Harry swerved just in time as the last boy leapt out from amongst the bins. An ambush? That was alarmingly intelligent for Dudley's gang, who had a collective IQ of about ten. This move however blocked off his escape route and Harry's flight instinct kicked into overdrive. He was now trapped on two sides between Malcolm and Piers, with Dudley coming up fast behind him.

Panic seized Harry and effectively wiped out his rational thought. His mind screamed '_escape_!' and his body obeyed, taking the first route it could see, never mind it was undoubtedly A Bad Idea. He dashed forward, leaping up onto the low brick wall and then leapt again, aiming for the top of the bins.

He knew instantly that he wasn't going to make it. It was a horrific moment; knowing that he was going to fall and badly hurt himself, without being able to do anything about it. All he could do was close his eyes and brace for impact.

It never came. Instead there was a tremendous buffeting sensation. The closest Harry could come to describing it was the time he had been sitting – well, hiding, really – up a tree and the wind had been whipping around him so strongly that the thin branch he was sitting on had been swaying wildly. But this time, there was nothing solid underneath him. Instead, there was that whirling, buffeting sensation, followed by the disorientating feeling that he was suddenly falling _upwards._ Then, very gently, he felt his shins touch down on something solid. Harry cautiously opened his eyes. And immediately gripped onto the rough brickwork under his folded legs for dear life.

He was on the _roof_ of the school kitchens. On top of the _chimney._

"_What?" _Harry whispered to himself, utter disbelief in his voice. "_What?"_ His brain seemed to have to have jammed from the shock of his sudden relocation. He peered cautiously down from his precarious perch. He could just about make out the dim shapes of Dudley and his group of thugs next to the bins, through the curtain of whirling snow. As if responding to his actions, the snow suddenly seemed to become heavier; hiding them from his view, and conversely, him from theirs.

_The snow…_

The sudden thought hit Harry with the force of a lightning bolt. The shock of it stole his breath. He could only sit, frozen in place, gripping the chimney hard as the wind swirled gently around him.

_The wind…_

It couldn't be. Could it? _Remember Santa,_ his mind whispered. _He isn't supposed exist either, right? So why not…? _The thought made a spark of something flare in his chest, an emotion so strong it made his throat seize up. It was a moment before he recognised it as hope; hope so strong that it was almost painful in its intensity.

Harry took a deep breath, trying to clear his suddenly tight throat enough to speak. He wasn't sure how to go about this – wasn't sure if there even _was _a way. Gathering up his courage, the six year old spoke aloud.

"Jack?" His voice was quiet, hesitant, almost lost in the noise of the wind. Yet the hope in it was unmistakable. "Jack Frost?"

There was an endless, crushing moment where nothing happened. Then the wind died completely. Harry inhaled sharply, startled. Everything was silent, still. The only movement was the snowflakes, drifting gently from the sky, no longer whipped into a wild frenzy by the air currents. The small boy gazed upwards, wide-eyed. "Jack." The whisper was more certain this time, no longer a question.

Joy and relief blazed through him, startling in their strength. Harry scrambled to his feet and craned his neck to peer into the sky, sure that the winter spirit was up there and flying about somewhere above him. However, in his eagerness, he forgot the caution necessary for someone standing on a chimney on a rooftop, covered in ice and snow.

He slipped.

And fell.

For the second time that day, Harry was convinced that he was going to die. Then the wind roared back, and for the second time he was saved. There was the same buffeting sensation as before and the small boy was gently lowered to the rooftop. He landed on his hands and knees and instantly latched on to the slates with a death grip, shaking uncontrollably. He was so preoccupied with trying to calm his pounding heart that he missed the near-soundless footsteps approaching along the narrow ridge of the roof. Therefore he jumped, taken completely by surprise when a voice spoke.

"Hey, kid, are you okay?"

The voice was concerned but yet oddly hesitant at the same time – almost resigned. Harry looked up automatically at the sound and then froze. Standing on the rooftop, not a metre away, was another person.

The newcomer looked to be around sixteen or seventeen, but any resemblance he had to a normal teenager stopped there. He leaned on a tall, carved wooden staff, hooked at one end like a shepherd's crook and veined with tendrils of ice. Patterns of frost snaked over the shoulders of the blue hoodie that he wore, threaded through the weave of the fabric as if the ice was a permanent addition to the piece of clothing. His bare feet – _bare! – _were starkly white against the black of the roof tiles, his skin pale as freshly fallen snow. His hair was also white – shaggy, spiky and fairly short – and he regarded Harry out of intensely blue eyes.

Harry stared back, entranced. Despite the differences between the book he'd read and the reality, the six year old could not think of anyone else who this person could possibly be. "Jack…Frost?" he ventured hesitantly, hardly daring to believe that Jack was real, that he was right in front of him.

The teenager jumped as if he'd been electrocuted, his blue eyes going wide as he stared at Harry. "Did…did you just say my name?"

"Yes?" Harry's bemusement made his reply a question.

"_You can see me?"_

"Yes…" Harry cocked his head, looking up at Jack, puzzled. "Why shouldn't I be able to?"

"I – I just – wow." Jack spun in a circle, as if unable to keep still for a second longer. "I – it's hard to – I don't – you – you can _see _me!" This last was a gleeful crow and the teenager jumped into the air. The wind whipped around Harry, ruffling his hair hard, and the small boy looked on in awe as Jack Frost leapt through the air around him, the winter spirit unable to contain his joy.

"This is amazing!" Jack floated back down and landed almost directly in front of Harry. The six year old flinched back on instinct; close contact was not generally a good thing for him. "Ah, sorry," Jack apologised, noticing his reaction. The winter spirit backed off a little, and then dropped into a crouch in an attempt to look smaller and less threatening. He gave Harry a huge smile, and it radiated so much genuine joy that Harry couldn't help the tiny smile that tugged up the corners of his mouth in return.

"So, ah, you know my name. What's yours?" Jack asked eagerly, leaning forward on the balls of his feet. "Actually, how _do _you know my name?"

Harry blinked. "I – I read it in a book. I've got it at home actually," he said, suddenly feeling a little shy. It was one thing to believe in someone you couldn't see; quite different to actually meet them in person. "It's all about you, but you look a bit different than you do in the pictures."

"Ah, well." Jack slumped back, falling from his crouch into a more casual sprawl and somehow still managing to achieve it with a sort of boneless grace. "That's because…well, no one actually knows what I look like." Jack deflated a little, losing some of his exuberance, though he still seemed lit up from within by happiness.

"What do you mean?" Harry asked, puzzled.

"Well, the thing is, you're actually the first person to ever see me," Jack admitted reluctantly as he traced his staff across the roof tiles.

Harry watched in fascination as beautiful, fern-like patterns unfurled across the slate in its wake. "But why can no one else see you?"

Jack seemed to struggle with himself for a moment. "Because no one believes in me," he finally said, with airy dismissal. "No big deal." His light, flippant attitude was at odds with the undercurrent of pain in his voice.

Harry could only stare. He imagined being invisible to everyone in the world and mentally cringed away from the idea. At least the Dursleys acknowledged he existed, albeit with extremely bad grace. Jack must be terribly lonely, even more than Harry.

Sadness rose in him at the thought and tears pricked at his eyes. What he did next was purely instinctive, born of a need to comfort. He crossed the small gap between them and wrapped his arms around the winter spirit in a hug. "Not anymore. I believe in you, Jack."

Jack froze as Harry buried his face in the fabric of the blue hoodie. The wind died around them and even the snowflakes seemed to stop in mid-air. Harry froze too, surprised by his own daring. He had never hugged anyone before in his life. He was very aware of how soft and cold Jack's hoodie felt under his fingers, and how the older boy's muscles had tensed up, as if in surprise.

As the seconds ticked past and Jack remained stiff and unresponsive, Harry started to worry that his hug was unwelcome. Maybe he was doing it wrong? The small boy started to draw back and then suddenly Jack's arms were around him, crushing the smaller boy to his chest in a fierce hug. Harry gave a squeak of protest and Jack's grip immediately loosened. "Sorry."

The apology sounded strange, as if he was choking on something. Worried, Harry pushed a little at Jack's chest. The winter spirit's grip slackened some more, enough for Harry to lean back and peer up at his face. Jack had two icy trails on his cheeks, running from his eyes down to his chin.

"Jack?"

"I'm fine." Jack released Harry and hastily wiped his face on his sleeve. He attempted a smile. "I just…I'm fine. Really."

Harry smiled hesitantly back. "I'm Harry, by the way. Harry Potter."

The teenager grinned. "Jack Frost. But then you already knew that." His voice had a wondering quality to it, as though he could hardly believe it, even now.

Harry grinned widely too, feeling joy bubbling up within him. It made him want to both hug himself and jump around with delight at the same time. "Hey, do you think –"

"_HARRY POTTER!"_

The six year old started violently, only Jack's steadying hand keeping him from falling right off the roof. He looked down to see his headmistress, red-faced and furious, surrounded by a gawking crowd of onlookers. Dudley and his friends were among them, looking extremely smug.

"_GET DOWN HERE THIS INSTANT, YOUNG MAN!"_

"Oops," Jack muttered, looking chastised . "Guess this is my fault."

Harry shrugged. He was feeling rather light-hearted about the whole thing. "I'm kind of used to getting in trouble. Weird things happen around me a lot. Besides if you hadn't saved me, Dudley's gang would have beaten me up."

"Guess I'd better take off then," Jack straightened up and brushed off his hoodie. "I'll see you after school?"

Harry's heart plummeted with Jack's first few words and then soared just as swiftly with the next few. "You mean it? You'll come back?" The excitement and longing were plain in his voice.

"Of course," Jack leaned on his staff and grinned, showing off his perfectly white teeth. "You can _see _me. Little Whinging might as well resign itself to a good, long, hard snow because I'm going to be here for a while."

Harry didn't think his smile could get any bigger.

"_HARRY POTTER! THIS IS YOUR LAST WARNING!"_

"Uh, Jack, just one more question?" Harry asked, as the winter spirit rocked on the balls of his feet, preparing to launch himself into the sky.

"Yeah?"

"How exactly do I get down from here?"

xxx

Harry stamped his feet, shaking off the crusted snow, before opening the door to Number Four Privet Drive. Aunt Petunia was very particular about people not tracking snow or dirt or mud or anything at all from outside really, into her nice, clean house.

Today, however, he barely even gave any thought to such things. His head was instead filled with the joy of his new discovery. He was so excited he hadn't been able to think of anything else all day: not during his scolding from the headmistress, not during the rest of his classes, not during the long walk home from school.

Harry hugged the knowledge of Jack's existence to himself, a bright and shining secret that made the world seem like a less horrible place and made it possible for him to cross the threshold of Number Four with a broad smile for the first time in his life.

It died instantly upon seeing Aunt Petunia. She stood in the hallway, looking angrier than he had ever seen her. "I suppose you think this is funny?" she hissed venomously.

Harry took a step back. "E-excuse me? What do you mean, Aunt Pentunia?"

"Don't play dumb with me!" his aunt shrieked, her voice rising. "The headmistress telephoned this afternoon to tell me about your delinquent behaviour! Climbing school buildings! I've never been so embarrassed in my life –"

"That's not true!" Harry burst out, unable keep quiet a moment longer. The unfairness of it made anger rise in his chest. "I was running away from – from someone, and I tried to jump behind some bins, and I was going to fall but Jack Frost rescued me by lifting me up to the rooftops –"

"Who?"

Harry froze. He had been so angry he had forgotten to guard his words.

"_Who?" _Her tone had turned dangerous.

"Jack Frost." Harry shrank away a little at Aunt Petunia's expression. "The spirit of winter," he explained, his voice getting smaller. As soon as the words were out of his mouth, he wished he could snatch them back. Why on earth had he said that?

She stilled, looking torn between fury and fear at the mere mention of something supernatural under her roof. "So," she hissed through gritted teeth. "That's what this is about?"

To Harry's horror, Aunt Petunia reached into his cupboard and withdrew a piece of paper. He instantly recognised it as a drawing he had been working on of Jack over the past week or so. It was wobbly and a bit shaky because he had been drawing in limited light, and now that he had met Jack, he knew it to be pretty inaccurate too, but he was still quite proud of it. Harry was sure he had hidden it before he left for school that morning.

Aunt Petunia shook the flimsy piece of paper at him. "Well? Is it?"

Harry could only watch, paralysed with panic at the sight of his precious picture in the hands of his aunt.

The lack of reply only seemed to make her angrier. "_There is no such thing as_ –"

_**Riiip!**_

"_Jack_ –"

_**Riiip!**_

"_Frost!"_

_**Riiip!**_

Harry could only stare, wide-eyed and horrified, as the pieces of paper fell all around him, floating slowly down to the carpet like a gentle shower of snowflakes.

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**A/N: In case you're wondering, the reason why Harry didn't initially receive a present was because he didn't believe in Santa at all, and until he saw what he was missing, neither did he have a reason to want to. Obviously, when that changed, it let North get his foot in the door. xD (And also the same could apply to Dudley in terms of him not believing, and therefore not getting a present from Santa, and therefore having no reason to doubt his parents' word – except for the fact that even above and beyond that, I'm almost one hundred percent certain that Dudley would be on the naughty list anyway. xD)**

**In case you're wondering, the thought occurred when I was writing this: how **_**did **_**the Dursleys deal with Christmas? I couldn't resist offering an explanation once it occurred to me. :P Plus, I could totally see Dudley as one of those annoying kids that go around trampling on all the other children's belief in Santa Claus.**


	3. To Find

**A/N: Annnd here's that other chapter. :) Both at once, as thanks for being so patient. Also, by the way, this is mostly a rehash of chapter two, but from Jack's point of view. I couldn't resist. :)**

**Disclaimer: These are so pointless. All they do is make me depressed that I wasn't the one to create such awesome worlds. :( Obviously, I don't own either Harry Potter or Rise of the Guardians.**

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**Catching the Wind**

**Chapter Three: To Find**

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_Seven hours earlier_

Jack plummeted from the sky with a whoop of laughter, the wind slowing his descent at last second by whirling into a fierce updraft. The young immortal landed gently on a telephone wire, balancing on his toes and as his skin touched the cable, a burst of frost magic raced along it, freezing it solid.

He bounced onto a nearby rooftop and dropped into a cross-legged position, bright-eyed and breathless. "That was amazing!" he cried aloud, throwing his arms up to the sky and then flopping bonelessly back onto the roof tiles, laughing aloud with the sheer joy of it. The wind whipped around him, howling its agreement.

Jack crossed his arms behind his head and gazed up at the sky, grinning wildly. He had been hard at work all morning, shaping up a truly excellent snowstorm for the town of Little Whinging, which, according to the instinct that tugged at him to deposit snow in certain places, hadn't had a heavy snowfall for about three years. Jack was all too happy to remedy that.

The winter sprite leapt back to his feet, the exhilaration of a good snowstorm still buzzing through his body. School hadn't started yet and children were always up for an early morning snowball fight.

As Jack swooped over the streets, he noticed a small, solitary figure trudging along the road towards the school. Curious, the winter spirit dropped lightly down to street level, touching down on the pavement in front of the child. It was a boy, slight and short, wrapped in a coat clearly too big for him. The same went for the hat pulled down low over his ears. Locks of messy black hair still poked out from under the edges though, and brilliant green eyes blinked behind round glasses, which were clumsily mended with sellotape.

"Hey buddy. Why're you walking alone?" Jack asked, cocking his head to the side as he walked backwards, studying the child. He didn't really expect an answer anymore, but he still spoke to the children out of a sort of mindless reflex.

A few seconds later, Jack saw a smile tug up the edges of the boy's mouth, barely visible behind his scarf. It made the immortal teenager smile too. It wasn't a smile for him, but he couldn't help responding as if it were. "What are you thinking about?"

They walked for a few seconds in silence, then the boy tipped his head slightly to gaze up at the sky, snowflakes landing on his upturned face. Jack was startled by the flash of intense longing that crossed his features; then the child looked down, rubbing at the tears gathering in his eyes.

"Hey, don't cry!" Jack flitted closer, concerned and bemused. "What on earth are you thinking about?" The winter sprite's agitation made the wind curl around closer, rocking the boy's small form, and Jack was just contemplating using some of his special snow to cheer the child up, when the boy spoke.

"Stop it, Jack."

Jack froze. He was vaguely aware that the wind had fallen silent too but all he could focus on was the small green-eyed child in front of him, shock rooting him to the ground. "W-what?" he choked. That was all he could manage; he couldn't get the right words out, the ones he desperately needed to say. _Did you just say my name?_

Then the boy walked right through him, oblivious to the fact that Jack had stopped moving.

Oh, that hurt.

Jack gasped and coughed, the horrible sensation made ten times worse by the fact that the boy's simple, unknowing action had just crushed the hope gathering in his chest. In fact, he hadn't realised quite how strongly it had blazed to life until it was torn away.

The wind whipped around him, moaning in sympathy for its companion's pain. It nearly knocked the boy off his feet again and he exclaimed, "Hey!" loud enough for Jack to hear. Then the school bell rang in the distance and the kid yelped in dismay, before tearing off down the road towards the building.

Jack was left standing in the road, gasping for breath around the pain in his chest and leaning on his staff for support. The wind curled around him, and Jack swiped away the ice crystals that had formed in the corners of his eyes in lieu of tears. "I'm fine," he muttered to the wind.

He was not.

xxx

Jack spent the rest of the morning trying to forget the incident. He froze power cables, he decorated gutters with his finest icicle work, he traced intricate frost-fern patterns on every available surface, he leapt into the heavens and opened the clouds, he summoned the wind and they rode the blizzard together, shooting through the streets of Little Whinging at speeds mortals could only dream of.

It wasn't enough.

Jack alighted on the church steeple, gripping the slates with his toes, holding his staff at his side for balance as he surveyed his snowy kingdom. Then he sighed and slumped down into a hunched position, tugging his hoodie up over his head in a defensive sort of way. Damn it. Why was he feeling so… bereft? It was hardly the first time someone had walked through him and it wasn't likely to be the last either.

_This was different. He said my name._

He had. And for the life of him, Jack couldn't work out _why_. He thumped the butt of his staff on the roof in frustration, dislodging a pile of snow and causing a miniature avalanche. A few seconds later, Jack found himself in the air, flying towards the school before he had made a conscious decision to head in that direction. Maybe he was just a sucker for punishment, but this was the closest he had come in all his three hundred years of existence to being seen and that burning kernel of hope refused to just die, no matter how much the immortal teenager was trying to ignore it.

He swooped over the playground. It was lunchtime and the children were mostly just dark blurs, barely visible through the thickly-falling snow.

Then he heard the boy's voice, loud and clear, echoing through the air like a bell. "Yeah, Dudley, how can you not believe in Santa? And don't you still sleep with a teddy bear? Mr Snuggly, wasn't it? I don't think you're in any position to call _anyone _a baby, let alone someone younger than you."

Jack's eyebrows rose and he followed the voice, dropping out of the blizzard directly into a confrontation between his small, raven-haired child and three older boys. A young girl stood off to the side, watching with wide eyes.

The following barrage of insults made it perfectly clear to Jack what was going on and he both wanted to groan and cheer at the courage of the smaller boy. When all four boys broke into a run, one fleeing, three pursuing, Jack leapt into the air. He couldn't directly protect the boy but he was perfectly capable of evening the odds.

The snow thickened drastically, bending to Jack's will as he commanded it to hide the smaller child from view. Then he swooped towards the ground and sent a bolt of ice crackling over the playground's surface. Two of the bullies went down like bowling pins as they hit the ice slick and Jack's heart soared when he heard the bright, clear laughter of the boy he was protecting.

And then the _boy _slipped. Whoops.

Jack winced and quickly directed the wind to push the child back to his feet. "Don't stop!" he called, and then cursed his inability to be heard as the black-haired boy faltered anyway, clearly surprised by the bizarre behaviour of the wind. The wind, however, took Jack's command as being directed at itself, and pushed the kid urgently forwards.

The immortal teenager swung around and swept a flurry of snow into the face of one of the bullies. He grinned in satisfaction as the bigger boy yelped and stumbled a little. Jack turned back around and his eyes widened in dismay as he saw that the younger child had run straight into an ambush. "Aw, no, kid, no," he groaned, leaping into the air. His alarm only increased when he realised what the boy was about to attempt. "_No, don't do it!"_

Jack's heart shot up into his mouth as he saw the smaller child leap, aiming for the top of the bins. _No! _Jack's protective instincts reared up, strong and fierce. "WIND!" he yelled.

Years of long partnership meant the wind understood immediately what its friend was asking it to do. It swept the featherweight child up, carrying him safely out of harm's way. They all landed on the rooftop, Jack's feet settling on either side of the ridge and while the wind gently deposited the boy on top of the chimney. The kid instantly latched on the rough brickwork in a death grip, his face going even whiter.

Jack blew out a shaky breath, running a hand through his shaggy white hair. Adrenaline still rushed through him and the fear for the boy's safety morphed into Jack's usual exhilaration as the danger passed. "That was pretty good, wasn't it, kid?" he grinned broadly, leaning on his staff and looking up at the child. Then it dawned on him that the boy was looking pretty pale and that the wind had dropped him on a chimneypot. "Oh yeah, I suppose you'd rather be a little further down? Hang on a tick –"

"Jack?"

The whole world crystallised around him.

"Jack Frost?"

The immortal teenager couldn't breathe. The wind had stopped entirely. Everything was trapped in one pure frozen moment. By contrast the tiny ember of hope in his chest had ignited into an inferno, filling his body, his lungs, his heart, his throat, to the point he couldn't speak, not even to cry out to the child that was acknowledging his existence.

_Yes! I'm here! I'm here! Please, I've waited so long!_

"Jack." No longer a question. There was certainty lining the boy's voice, strength and conviction.

Belief.

Jack exhaled unevenly, feeling as if his ribcage was going to snap under the sheer strength of feeling it was containing. As he did so, the boy scrambled to his feet, staring up into the sky. Jack opened his mouth, sure that his voice was going to come out as a hoarse rasp or embarrassingly high-pitched, when he saw the boy slip. And fall.

_NO!_

The wind didn't even need a command this time; the horror radiating off Jack was enough to send it racing forwards. It scooped the child up before he could fall more than a foot and settled him gently down on the ridge of the roof, level with Jack.

"Thank you," Jack barely managed to get out. The sudden fear for the boy's safety had closed his throat up again. The wind hummed in acknowledgment and began circling the roof in a precautionary sort of way.

The spirit winter clutched his staff hard, staring at the small boy clinging to the roof scant metres away. Then he shook himself. _C'mon, Jack. Get it together._ Drawing on centuries of experience, he composed himself and settled into a nonchalant pose. An easy smile on his face, he padded forwards and called out, "Hey, kid, are you okay?"

The boy jumped, startled and looked up at him. His bright green eyes widened and a look of wonder crossed his face. "Jack…Frost?"

Despite himself, Jack jumped. The child was_ looking right at him_. That expression, that awe, was for him. Unrestrained joy thrummed in his chest. "Did…did you just say my name?" he breathed, hardly able, hardly _daring_ to believe it. He was quite certain that if this was taken away from him now, he wouldn't survive the loss.

"Yes?" The boy was clearly puzzled by the question.

"_You can see me?" _Jack couldn't stop himself for asking for one more confirmation. Three hundred years of silence had crushed his hope further and further down within his soul to the point where he honestly wasn't sure what kept it alive any longer.

"Yes…Why shouldn't I be able to?" The bemusement in the boy's voice broke the final dam of Jack's caution. _Why shouldn't I? _As if it were an irrefutable fact. As if his ability to see Jack was as natural as breathing.

Joy burst forth from his mouth in a whoop. "I – I just – wow." Jack's jumbled mess of overwhelming feelings rendered him completely unable to think or speak coherently. "I – it's hard to – I don't – you – you can _see _me!" The jubilant shout echoed through the sky as Jack sprang ten metres into the air, unable to keep still.

Five seconds of wild acrobatics later, he landed in front of the boy. "This is amazing!" he whooped. Then he noticed the way the kid flinched a little from his sudden proximity. "Ah, sorry," he apologised and backed off a little, before dropping down into a crouch. He might have been a bit too exuberant. The winter sprite didn't want to scare off his first believer.

_His first believer._

The mere thought brought the broad smile back to his face and he was delighted to see that it made the kid smile in response. "So, ah, you know my name. What's yours?" His thoughts flitted about, unable to keep still. "Actually, how _do _you know my name?" He was curious, after all. _How _had the boy known enough to attribute the strange behaviour of the weather to him?

"I – I read it in a book. I've got it at home actually." The green-eyed child examined him, tilting his head inquisitively. "It's all about you, but you look a bit different than you do in the pictures."

"Ah, well." Jack slumped into a more comfortable position, hardly aware of what he was saying as he turned over the bit of information in his head. "That's because…well, no one actually knows what I look like." He could barely believe his luck. If he hadn't come to Little Whinging this week, if the boy had not spoken his name aloud this morning… Jack shuddered away from the mere thought.

"What do you mean?"

The puzzlement in the black-haired child's voice made him jerk back to reality and the winter spirit slumped a little as he realised what he had thoughtlessly spoken aloud. He'd just have to brazen it out, like always. "Well, the thing is, you're actually the first person to ever see me."

"But why can no one else see you?"

The question was harmless enough but it made Jack's throat close up. It was a second before he could reply. "Because no one believes in me. No big deal."

He wasn't quite sure he'd pulled off the nonchalance he was going for though, because the boy stared at him with furrowed brows for a moment. And then he moved forward and hugged the spirit of winter. "Not anymore. I believe in you, Jack."

_Didn't see that coming._

Jack remained frozen with shock. He was being _hugged_.

_**Really **__didn't see that coming._

The first physical contact he'd had in years. The first _friendly_ physical contact he'd had as long as he could remember. Jack remained completely rigid. He had no idea how to respond. His brain seemed to have jammed. In fact, the only thing it really seemed to be registering was how warm the boy was, like a tiny sun. The heat, normally unwelcome, was instead reassuring. It said, _he's here. He's real. He believes in you._

Then he felt the tiny arms begin to withdraw. _No! Not yet! _The cry came from somewhere deep within him, a cry born of centuries of loneliness. Without thinking, he threw his arms around the boy in return. As he did so, a sense of familiarity washed over him. _Yes, that's right. _That was how you were supposed to return a hug.

Then the green-eyed child squeaked a little and he noticed he was holding on too tight. "Sorry," Jack apologised hastily, releasing his hold. It was only then that he realised that his voice sounded strange and, to his horror, that tears had escaped from his eyes, freezing on his cheeks as they did so.

The kid noticed, of course. "Jack?"

"I'm fine." He reassured hastily, swiping away the tears. "I just…I'm fine. Really." _Get a grip, Jack._

The boy smiled back. "I'm Harry, by the way. Harry Potter."

"Jack Frost. But then you already knew that." The immortal teenager grinned, making a joke of it, but he could still barely believe it. _A child knew his name._

Harry mirrored his grin. "Hey, do you think –"

"_HARRY POTTER!"_

The kid jumped so badly he nearly fell; Jack quickly reached out a steadying hand. The winter spirit peered down to see what he presumed was the school's headmistress, red-faced and furious, surrounded by a gawking crowd of onlookers. The bullies were among them, looking extremely smug.

"_GET DOWN HERE THIS INSTANT, YOUNG MAN!"_

Jack groaned internally. He hadn't meant to get Harry in trouble. "Oops. Guess this is my fault."

Harry looked surprisingly unconcerned. "I'm kind of used to getting in trouble. Weird things happen around me a lot. Besides if you hadn't saved me, Dudley's gang would have beaten me up."

Jack grinned, admiring the kid's spirit. "Guess I'd better take off then. I'll see you after school?"

"You mean it? You'll come back?" The boy practically lit up in excitement.

His undisguised joy sent a wave of warmth through Jack. "Of course," he gave his trademark, cocky smirk. "You can _see _me." The smirk softened into something a little gentler. "Little Whinging might as well resign itself to a good, long, hard snow because I'm going to be here for a while."

Harry didn't say anything, just beamed so hard that Jack couldn't possibly doubt his delight.

"_HARRY POTTER! THIS IS YOUR LAST WARNING!"_

Jack was about to leap into the sky when Harry spoke again. "Uh, Jack, just one more question?"

"Yeah?"

"How exactly do I get down from here?"

…Oops.

xxx

Jack barely managed to contain himself for Harry's three remaining hours of school. He distracted himself with flying out to nearby towns and villages and dumping their share of snow without his usual care, so that when he returned he could spend the maximum amount of time possible with Harry.

As soon as he heard the clock strike four, his heart leapt into his mouth. Harry's school finished at half past three! He would be on his way home by now! Calling the wind to his aid, Jack leapt into the sky and arrived in Little Whinging in record time. It was then that he realised that he didn't know where Harry lived. After five minutes of frantic searching, he finally spotted a familiar figure entering a house on Privet Drive.

"Harry!" Jack darted after him, but the door shut just before he made it to the house. "Damn it!" Undeterred, Jack sped to the window looking into the hallway. He saw Harry and a woman who was perhaps his mother, and a grin lit up his face. He was about to rap on the glass when the woman suddenly spoke. "I suppose you think this is funny?"

Jack blinked, surprised by the level of anger in her voice.

"E-excuse me? What do you mean, Aunt Pentunia?"

"Don't play dumb with me!" Harry's aunt shrieked. "The headmistress telephoned this afternoon to tell me about your delinquent behaviour! Climbing school buildings! I've never been so embarrassed in my life –"

Guilt flooded through Jack. He'd gotten Harry in trouble.

"That's not true!" Harry cried out. "I was running away from – from someone, and I tried to jump behind some bins, and I was going to fall but Jack Frost rescued me by lifting me up to the rooftops –"

"Who?"

_Aw, nice try, kid. _Jack winced in sympathy and regret. He knew from years of observation that adults generally just got annoyed if kids tried to blame misdemeanours on 'imaginary' people.

"_Who?" _

"Jack Frost." Harry's voice was tiny. "The spirit of winter."

_Jeesh, kid, you got seriously unlucky with relatives. Your aunt seems like a complete dragon._ Jack had to fight down the protective instinct urging him to leap to Harry's defence. He couldn't do anything to help and this woman wasn't going to harm him in any case.

"So," Harry's aunt spoke through clenched teeth. "That's what this is about?"

Then she pulled out a sheet of paper.

Jack's heart faltered for an instant with shock and leapt again in delight. _A drawing! Of him!_ It was shaky and inaccurate but obviously meant to be _him_; an icy figure surrounded by whirling snowflakes, laughing in delight.

"Well? Is it?"

Jack frowned, a little seed of alarm starting to grow within him. This woman's reactions seemed fairly extreme to him; her anger wasn't abating at all. In fact, it seemed to heightening.

"_There is no such thing as_ –"

_**Riiip!**_

"_Jack_ –"

_**Riiip!**_

"_Frost!"_

_**Riiip!**_

Jack could only stare, shocked and horrified. Harry's pose mirrored his. The kid's green eyes were huge and his gaze was fixed on torn scraps of paper. The boy didn't resist at all as his aunt took him roughly by the arm and shoved him _into the cupboard under the stairs._

"And you can stay in your room until you learn how normal people behave!" The woman stormed into the kitchen, still squawking in her shrill voice.

Jack stood stock still. His chest felt hot and tight, and when the anger finally burst out, it was in a shout of fury. "WHAT IS _**WRONG**_ WITH YOU?!" The blizzard echoed him with a deep roar, the snow thickening until it was practically a solid downpour. The wind lashed around him, howling in agreement. The spirit of winter launched himself into the sky, shaking with rage. He was well aware how dangerous his temper could be if let loose and he had no desire to completely bury Little Whinging. But he also needed to release this rage before it span out of his control.

He sped up and up and up through the clouds. _Don't worry, Harry. I'll return soon._

And then he unleashed the full fury of winter over the whole of southern England.

xxx

It was a completed exhausted Jack that finally thumped to the ground outside Number Four Privet Drive several hours later, with none of his usual grace. He trudged up to the window that he had stood at before. He stared at it with dull incomprehension, then remembered that he couldn't get through it. Damn. Well, he wasn't going to wait around for someone to open a window in mid-winter.

Spreading his fingers across the pane of glass, Jack summoned the last of his strength to send a bolt of pure ice through the window. The glass cracked and shattered under the extreme temperature. The immortal teenager brushed it from the frame and slipped through easily. A tiny exertion of will sealed the space back up with a sheet of ice instead. It was clumsy work but Jack couldn't bring himself to care.

He trudged to the cupboard door, leaving frosty footprints unfurling across the carpet in his wake. Jack hesitated for an instant at the door and then knocked. "Harry?" he called softly.

There was silence. He cracked the door. "Harry?"

His eyes landed on the boy and his heart broke all over again. The child was curled up in a mess of blankets. His cheeks were stained with tears but his breathing had softened into the smooth rhythm of sleep. A single scrap of white paper was held in his clenched fist. Jack could just make out a snowflake design pencilled across it.

"I'm sorry," he whispered, not even sure which awful thing he was apologising for. Not even sure why _he _was apologising, when what he really meant was, _I wish I could make it better._

Jack brushed a hand over Harry's forehead, smoothing back the black hair. His skin was fever-hot. The winter spirit bit his lip. He might not be able to. But he was going to damn well try. For this boy, who believed in him against all odds.

He turned to leave. "Goodnight, Harry. I'll see you in the morning." He was just about to duck out into the hallway when a tiny, hot hand fastened on his wrist.

"Please stay, Jack."

He turned and looked down into a sleepy pair of green eyes, still red-rimmed from crying. Even if he had wanted to, he wouldn't have been able to say no. Jack sat down on the bed and Harry settled in his lap, resting his head against the winter spirit's chest. He fell asleep again almost instantly.

Jack gazed down at the child resting against him. He was pretty sure Harry's body temperature was going to get uncomfortable fairly quickly. He was also pretty sure that he didn't care.

* * *

**A/N: Phew, done! Hopefully these huge chapters make up for the delay. Thanks again for your patience. :) (Also, please review. :P)**


	4. To Promise

**A/N: That wonderful moment when you realise that you have a whole week and three days before your next essay is due…*collapses face-first onto bed* I handed in two essays today, staggered around sleep-deprived, ate a ton of pizza with my flatmates and now I'm tucked up in bed, all warm and snuggly…and seriously dozing off right this second. **

**Also, I go home tomorrow for the Easter Holidays and my sister informed me over the phone that the Rise of the Guardians DVD finally arrived today. WORDS CANNOT CONVEY THE EXCITEMENT.**

***IMPORTANT* As of now, you can check my profile for information about this story and what's going on i.e. when I'm hopefully gonna put the next chapter up or why it's going to be late or whatever. :P**

**Disclaimer: Don't own either of them, etc.**

* * *

**Catching the Wind**

**Chapter Four: To Promise**

* * *

"I don't understand!"

Jack paced back and forth across the surface of the frozen pond. He thumped the butt of the staff down in frustration and a web of cracks radiated out from the point of impact. As he turned around and went back across the pond, another layer of frost shivered over the surface where his bare skin touched the ice, sealing up the fissures once more.

"Jaaack…" drawled an exasperated voice. The winter spirit's eyes were drawn to the shore, where Harry was rolling the head of a snowman into shape. They were at the local park, which was mostly buried under a downy blanket of snow and which was also currently deserted due to the early hour. The clouds had drifted away in the night and the sky was a dazzling blue, all the more vivid against the white landscape. "I've already told you."

Jack scowled. "I still don't understand. How can they blame you for everything?"

It had been three days since Jack had met Harry. Three days of attempting to get back at the Dursleys for their treatment of Harry without it actually being _blamed_ on Harry. It hadn't gone well.

Jack had jerked awake on the morning of the 21st and had barely had a chance to wonder at the fact that he'd fallen asleep – which rarely happened and never somewhere _warm_ – before he became aware of what had woken him so suddenly. A rapid banging on the cupboard, along the shrill command of, "Up! Get up! Now!"

Harry had jumped too, startled awake by the noise, and then he had groaned in dismay. Jack blinked in surprise as he watched Harry slip off his lap and begin rooting under the bed. "What are you doing?"

"Looking for my socks," Harry replied, his voice slightly muffled by the bed. He crawled back out and started pulling them onto his feet.

"No, I mean, why is your aunt yelling at you to get up? Isn't school finished for the holidays?" Jack rubbed at his eyes, feeling like his brain was made of cotton wool. Usually when he fell asleep, it was to recover from some kind of injury and perhaps exhaustion from overexerting his powers. It felt strange to have drifted into sleep for no apparent reason, especially when it had only been for an hour or two.

"Yeah, it is, but Aunt Petunia will want me to cook the breakfast," Harry said matter-of-factly, wriggling his toes to get them into the bottom of the socks.

Jack had frowned. "She makes you _cook_ the breakfast? Aren't you too young for that?" As he spoke, memories of the previous night flooded back and his frown deepened. It shouldn't surprise him really, judging by the way the woman had treated her nephew before.

"Not really." Harry pulled a jumper over his head. "I've got a box to stand on to see the top of the cooker."

"That's not really what I meant…" Jack trailed off as Harry pushed open the cupboard door.

The boy turned back to look at him. "Will you come with me?" he asked hopefully. "I can make you some too. I'm pretty good at it by now." Then he paused, evidently struck by a thought. "_Can_ you eat?"

"What? Uh, yeah," Jack replied, momentarily derailed by the question. "I don't need to but I can." He ducked out of the cupboard and Harry beamed up at him, before setting off down the hall. "Harry," Jack said, catching up as the kid entered the kitchen. "Do your aunt and uncle always treat you like this?" He couldn't keep the concern out of his voice.

"Yeah." Harry shrugged and fished some sausages out of the fridge. "They don't like me much. Neither does Dudley. But that's okay because I don't like them much either."

"Dudley?"

"My cousin. You saw him yesterday," Harry explained, dropping the pork links one by one into the frying pan. They hit the bottom with a sizzle. "He was one of the ones chasing me yesterday at school."

Jack's eyebrows rose and his anger spiked. "They _let_ your cousin _bully_ you?"

At that precise moment, Aunt Petunia bustled into the kitchen. "Don't let those sausages burn!" she snapped. "Last time they were black!"

Jack's temper was already simmering near the surface. Her tone was quite enough to send it over the edge, even without the look that had appeared on Harry's face, somewhere between indignation and hurt.

All of the kitchen windows shattered as the temperature abruptly dropped to below freezing, and Aunt Petunia shrieked and ducked, as the wind swept in along with half of the snow lying on the ground outside.

Harry blinked up in astonishment and shock at Jack, knee-deep in snow and one hand still holding the frying pan. "Oops," Jack said unrepentantly.

It had rapidly degenerated after that. Aunt Petunia had become hysterical and started screaming at Harry, calling him unnatural and a freak. Jack had shouted right back even though she couldn't hear him, outraged that she was blaming the child and lost his temper again, along with his control. This time all the pipes under the sink had shattered as the water in them froze and Aunt Petunia had become even more hysterical. Uncle Vernon had thundered down the stairs, still in his pyjamas and then there been more shouting and bellowing, the end result being that Harry was banished to his cupboard once more while his uncle had phoned a glazier and a plumber.

Over the next day or two Jack had tried all manner of things in an attempt at punishing them for their treatment of Harry, from icing the lids shut on all Aunt Petunia's cleaning products to freezing the engine of Uncle Vernon's car. No matter what he did, Harry got the blame for it and all that did was upset Jack even more.

"I just don't understand!" The immortal teen stomped back and forward across the surface of the pond. _Crack, _refreeze, _crack_, refreeze. "How can they possibly blame you for these things?"

Harry stopped rolling the snowman's head for a moment, blowing his hair out of his eyes with an exasperated huff of breath. "They don't like things behaving in a way they're not supposed to, or anything that they can't explain. And, like I said, weird things happened around me quite a lot, so that's probably why they think it's me. Now will you please stop worrying and just come and play Jack?" And with that, he went right back to rolling the snowman.

The winter sprite could only stare in astonishment, both at the fact that it was the first time _he _had to be _encouraged _to play instead of fret over something, and because of the young boy's incredible pragmatism over the whole situation.

_But then, from what he's said, this has been going on as long as he can remember. It's completely mundane. No wonder he's developed a 'that's the way it is' attitude._

Harry looked over, and seeing Jack still standing on the ice, called out impatiently. "C'mon Jack! Stop worrying about it!"

The winter spirit shook himself and then flew over to the kid, before starting to roll the snowman's body. The motions were familiar, honed by years of practice, and calmed him a little from his agitated state. As his hands worked, Jack turned the situation over and over in his mind. It was frustrating beyond belief to be unable to help Harry, but anything he did was only going to make it worse. There had to be _something_ he could do to help…

Harry glanced over at him and grinned, eyes bright from exertion and happiness. "Don't look like that. You can't stop them from being horrible people, but you're here and that's what matters. We can play together and they can't ever take you away from me." Harry looked back at his snowman head, focused on patting it into shape, and thus missed the look that passed over Jack's face.

_They can't ever take you away from me. _

Clearly, Harry had been every bit as lonely as Jack had been. The winter spirit coughed a little to clear his throat, which felt very tight all of a sudden. "Don't worry. We'll play together every single day." He was proud of the fact his voice had only rasped the tiniest bit and when Harry beamed at him in response, Jack felt so light he might have actually risen off the ground and simply not noticed.

"Promise?"

"Promise."

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**A/N: Ahhhh, feel the fluff. xD Hope you enjoyed and hope you also leave a review. :P Also, a huge thank you to everyone who has reviewed so far! I haven't had time to reply to them individually but I read them all and beamed at every single one. :D**


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